At the End of the Day
by kneipho
Summary: Neelix reflects at the end of the day.


Disclaimer: No characters belong to me. The thoughts, however are mine alone. No profit made, no harm intended.

Title: At the End of the Day

Author: kneipho  
Beta: Holly (Any errors you unearth are mine, not hers.)  
Rating: PG-13 (T)  
Fandom: VOY  
Character/Pairing Codes: N

Authors Notes: My Second Fanfic

With the last dish cleared away, the kitchen was finally clean. It was also empty -save for one Talaxian individual. The night was blissfully quiet. Not that Neelix found noise bothersome. He didn't. He liked to think it was part of his nature to enjoy the boisterousness of life. Even so, sometimes at the end of the day, at the end of a bustling busy day —silence could be rejuvenating.

Existence on a Federation Starship was an adventure into an exotic region of space: an ever-changing escapade he adored. The thrumming activity that came with preparing meals for approximately one hundred and fifty alien servicemen certainly kept Neelix cooking on the tips of his toes. The crew, made up of varying races, all had unfamiliar tastes and backgrounds. Every day he learned something new. Everyday he tried to share something different with someone else.

The _Voyager_ pack generally accepted their cook's enthusiasm for diversity. There was, of course, the occasional clash of personalities. The Vulcan Commander Tuvok, for example, appeared most comfortable with the steady routine. Every day, he drank the same kind of tea without exception. He drank it each day, while seated in the same chair, at the same exact table —seven days a week: three hundred sixty five earth days a year. How anyone could do that all the time without turning demented was beyond Neelix's comprehension.

For a change of pace one morning, he switched the commander's regular beverage for a slightly sweeter Ocampan blend. The substitution of refreshments was perceived as a dubious action. Tuvok did not actually come out and admit his ire, of course. Nevertheless, Neelix knew. That afternoon, the captain sent the two of them out on an away mission together.

It proved an appalling experience.

Twenty minutes into the mission, the commander crash-landed their shuttlecraft into a nearby asteroid. The EMH discovered sometime later, that Tuvok's navigational skills had been seriously impaired at the time of the crash. Impaired by an opiate he consumed earlier in the day, an opiate ingested through experimentation with a new variety of tea.

Vulcans really knew how hold a grudge.

* * *

Using a clean white towel, Le Chef de Cuisine polished the top of his favorite chopping board. What should he serve for lunch tomorrow? Lost in thought, he folded the cloth in half and placed it on a small metal shelf beside the faucet. _Delta Quadrant Dust Bowl Stew. No. Spaghetti and Meat balls._ An impolite snort perforated the silence. Ensign Harry Kim would just love that. Harry usually had something cheeky to say about any creative attempt to please the human palate. The boy could be such an adorable scamp.

Neelix understood that most of the Earth dwellers on the ship weren't overtly thrilled about improvements he made to the comestibles of their world. Not everyone embraces culinary advancement with unarticulated grace. It had taken time, but he'd grown used to the criticism. Nonetheless, he still had a plan for what to do if the comments ever became too snippy. Leola Root would suddenly appear in every other dish on the menu for a week. Neelix laughed out loud, and the sound reverberated from one wall to the next, bouncing throughout the room with a church bell like resonance.

He looked out the galley window. _What a view! _He enjoyed space travel, but hadn't always. A being could grow to cherish almost anything if it possessed the willingness to try. Through the clear partition, an infinite number of twinkling stars littered the scene. Each star represented a moon or a planet. Each planet possibly supported life of some sort: a landscape populated by people he had never met; a community he had never visited. In the hush of the night, staring out into the distance, he acknowledged the stirring vastness of the universe. Felt its energy as it flowed into his veins, providing a sense of renewal.

Blinking his eyes, he realized it was getting late. Naomi was expecting a story. He had better hurry or the little girl would fall asleep halfway though his narrative. After ordering the computer to shut down the lights, he slipped though the exit doors and into the corridor. The metal panels whispered a subtle "goodnight" as they closed tightly behind him. Quickening his stride, he headed toward a waiting turbo lift. The construction of Naomi's "Once upon a time . . ." had begun in his head: building a solid foundation; word by word -forging the sweet dreams of a child.

* * *

At the End of the Day, Copyright (c) 2001, 2007 kneipho


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